The other morning, I woke with a start at 5am to find Genghis Cat creeping along the bedhead in stealth-stalking mode, no doubt planning to smother me in my sleep by placing that well-groomed anus of his over my nostrils.
Waking with a start was somewhat complicated by the fact that Tiddles McGee was holding both of my ears in his sleep, a quirky little habit he’s formed which often makes me feel like a short-wave radio he’s trying to tune.
Of course, I also had the puppy sleeping, pressed hard against my vital organs. The poor thing must have been truly exhausted after a long hard night of chewing: that night’s victims (as I went on to discover) included a hardcover book, the Pixie’s “favouritest” box, and Mr Justice’s bicycle seat.
A lesser person might have snapped making such discoveries after a bad night’s sleep less than two weeks before Christmas.
But not I.
You see, I had me a secret weapon. I had me a new bra to wear. And not just a new bra, but a new well-fitting bra.
For months, since our last disastrous attempt at bra shopping, my dear friend KT has been hassling me about driving me to this corsetiere or that and I’ve been all “Yeah, yeah. Whatevs.” like she was my mother reminding me to tidy my room or my husband hassling me for sex. I mean, she must have been checking out my breasts, like, All. The. Time and tracking their slow, sad progression towards the ground. Ah, gravity. You are a bitch.
And then finally, just the other day, I suddenly relented. Christmas had worn me down. I found myself with so much to do that dumping it all and going bra shopping instead seemed like a blessed relief.
And so it came to pass that in a middle of an empty lingerie factory outlet, with ne’er a Christmas decoration in sight, that I met my bra. Yes, I met “The One”.
“OH. MY. GOD.” I said to KT. “This bra makes my breasts look…. magnificent.”
And before I knew it, I was buying two of the things. I was spending $114 of our precious pre-Christmas budget not on stocking fillers or Christmas pantry items or utility bills, but on french lingerie. I started to get that sick I’ve-just-spent-money-we-don’t-really-have feeling but then I remembered the $100 wetsuit my husband had purchased just the week before with the thought of maybe just maybe taking up snorkeling in all that spare time he has and I realised I might just get a little more wear out of the bras…
So while I may be facing Christmas stressed-out-as-all-fuck, at least I now feel like I can take it all on. I feel prepared. I feel supported in all the right places. I have me that New Bra Feeling.
Moreover, I’m thinking of wearing one of the bras over my head while I sleep to protect my ears from Tiddles. And that other bra can be used an almighty slingshot to deter the fucking pets from their next course of wanton destruction.
Christmas? Bring. It.